Life is Fare is a Tigrinya/English feature film exploring three different experiences of the Eritrean diaspora living in the U.S. It uses different styles (drama, documentary, animation, fantasy) to construct a range of views on what it means to be Eritrean and living abroad. So, if you’re looking for a unique exploration of the immigrant experience in the U.S. Life is Fare is a movie to add to your watch-list.
Clara Sola is one of two Latin American films from 2022 that had a memorably anti-colonialist ending. The other, Bantu Mama, features a French-African tourist turned fugitive in the Dominican Republic that escapes to sanctuary in Africa after feeling a connection to her African roots. Clara Sola follows Clara’s awakening as she frees herself from conservative Christianity to embrace the indigenous roots of her powers.
Clara is imprisoned by a purple flag marked boundary around the small house she lives in with her mother and niece in the remote Costa Rican countryside. She’s closely protected by her mother for her miraculous god-given powers, that were apparently bestowed to her by an apparition of the Virgin Mary. Her fame for healing routinely brings people from across the country to her house for her blessings, as well as much needed donations that seem to be the main source of income for the three of them. At the beginning, Clara is content to follow her mother’s lead, staying within the purple flagged boundary marked for her and taking part in the religious ceremonies she’s the main attraction of. However, the arrival of Santiago prompts a sexual awakening that reconnects her to the true nature of her powers.
Colors are present from the start in the purple flags flying on the poles marking Clara’s boundary. In the opening scene, she’s beckoning her white horse named Yuca, to come to her from the other side of the boundary line. The natural white color of Yuca signify freedom, whereas purple signifies Clara’s confinement. It’s notable that the only other time purple appears in the film is after Clara tries to dye her pink dress blue, to match the blue quincenera dress of her niece. She’s trying to break free from the conservative baby pink (and her babying mother) to experience the freedom of the attractive blue dress of her niece, but ends up stuck with the same purple that marks her restricted world. It’s a moment in which she realizes that no matter how much she tries to be like her niece, she’ll never be her. It sets in motion her wish to escape.
Colors also confuse Clara. She’s drawn to both artificial and natural colors, even though both aren’t leading her in the right direction. The artificial colors of her niece’s blue dress draw her to Santiago and a ‘normal life.’ She’s pictured in the dress in her happiest moments with Santiago. However, like the artificial lights illuminating her smile as she’s driven home by Santiago one night, the blue dress symbolizes an unsustainable happiness. She’s only truly free in the moments she’s with nature – with natural colors – whether that be the lights of the fire-flies, the white coat of Yuca, or the greens and blues of the trees and river. The nature accepts her and understands her. They allow her to be free unlike the family and community that imprison her physically and spiritually.
In breaking free from her family and community, Clara breaks free from the conservative Christianity that imprisoned her, the descendant of Spanish Colonialism. In returning to the forest, she’s returning to her indigenous roots.
What to Watch Next
For more Latin American coming of age films, try Alba and Aurora. The former follow a daughter living with her single dad trying to navigate the awkwardness of puberty and school. The latter follows a pregnant teenager that finds support in a teacher. You can also try Ixcanul, which follow an indigenous woman in Guatemala.
Or for a dark, magical coming of age story in the vein of Black Swan, try Joachim Trier’s Thelma.
Landfall is a political film imbued with anger at the current state of Puerto Rico. It captures life in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria, choosing to depict the current post-Hurricane tragedies instead of the actual Hurricane, and setting them within the history of U.S. imperialism. In doing so, Landfall presents a critique of disaster capitalism (see Naomi Klein’s Shock Doctrine) and the U.S. stranglehold on Puerto Rico and it’s ineffectual politicians.
That being said, the actual footage isn’t inherently political. Each scene from each part of the island is shot observationally without any directorial input or opinion. For example, the profile on the wealthy real estate family by itself doesn’t include any tough questions for the family or a political lens. However, by moving between these profiles of wealthy families and crypto-billionaires and profiles of rural farmers struggling to make a living and activists protesting the governor, the film becomes political. It juxtaposes the increasingly wealthy with the increasingly poor to highlight the growing inequality on the island. And by jumping around the country to visit a range of communities, Aldarondo shows that this inequality is endemic to all parts of the country.
One of the most memorable snapshots captures the arrival of U.S. crypto billionaires. They’ve arrived on the island cloaked in good intentions with promises for employment and wealth via the blockchain. However, when confronted by locals on their similarities with the white American imperialists that preceded them their benevolent facade crumbles. One represents the danger of a white savior – talking down on the locals as if he’s the only one that can solve their issues – whilst another represents the cultural eradication of cultural appropriation in her dreaded hair. Cut with scenes documenting the history of U.S. imperialism and speakers pressing Puerto Rico to privatize the country to encourage foreign investment and the warning signs are clear. Puerto Rico is on the brink of being re-colonized by wealthy Americans looking for a clean tax-haven for their millions. Their arrival is a threat to indigenous Puerto Rican life.
Landfall is made as an urgent warning to the precarious situation on the island. Just like Zuckerberg’s land grabs in Hawaii, and the privatization of post-Katrina New Orleans, post-Maria Puerto Rico is arriving at its own tipping point. Fortunately there is some hope that indigenous way of life prevails, represented in the people protesting the Governor, the community schools, and the family standing up to real estate in Vieques. The fight for Puerto Rico isn’t quite over.
Head to our LALIFF 2021 Hub for more reviews from the 20th edition of LALIFF.
Pornomelancholia is a slow paced character study of a up-and-coming porn star navigating the Mexican porn industry. It has plenty of dry humor and an underlying commentary on social media culture.
The film starts with a mid-range shot of Lalo standing alone by a busy street in the city. People walk past him and cars pass behind him as we watch him peer around. It seems like he’s waiting for someone or taking a breather in a chaotic day. However, before the shot lingers further, Lalo breaks down into a soft sob as the title credits pop up: Pornomelancholia. It’s a prelude for the critique of superficial influencer-culture that Lalo uses to make his way into the porn industry.
Lalo is portrayed as a lonely man parading as a popular sex icon. His Instagram videos hide the fact that he works in a small factory with two other people that he hardly talks to. His confidence in his sexuality online contradicts his inability to come out to his family – shown in the rehearsed voice messages he can’t bring himself to send to his mother. It follows films such as Sweat in showing that the digital lives promoted by influencers don’t always reflect reality.
Despite the underlying commentary, there is dry humor in Pornomelancholia. This is probably the only film that you can watch that is built around a Zapata led Mexican revolution porn film. It also probably runs on for too much of the film, but the pornographic shots, which linger for more than expected are designed to make you awkwardly uncomfortable (like Lalo himself). The sex scenes are provocative, but not as outrightly as another Mexican festival film – Battle in Heaven.
Overall, if you’re looking for a slow-paced festival film that follows a gay man working his way into the porn industry, Pornomelancholia is worth a watch. Whilst the culture fostered by the industry and Lalo is portrayed as fake, his journey feels unique, real and believable.
If you’re looking for an entry point into the Cholombiano sub culture of Monterrey, you’ve come to the right place. I’m No Longer Here has the cumbia music, the dance crews, the slang, and the unique haircuts. The narrative bounces between Monterrey and New York as it follows Ulises from leading a crew in his Mexican hometown, to his new exile in New York to escape the gangs he was mistakenly mixed up in. In New York, he never fits in. He’s only at peace when he’s listening to cumbia or dancing. Otherwise, he’s alone in a world where local Latinos make fun of him and where the Americans that like him can’t communicate with him. Tune in for the music, dancing, and ‘fish out of water’ immigrant experience.
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